


Matter of Opinion

by aramajor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sexual Content, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aramajor/pseuds/aramajor
Summary: Dumbledore sent her back, but will Hermione be the one able to kill the soon-to-be Dark Lord?





	Matter of Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of independent one shots I will be posting. This story is posted without a beta, if there's any issues or any constructive criticism, please let me know. Enjoy, xoxo Ara.

May, 1943

“You’re telling me, Miss Granger, that I have sent you from the year 1996 with a secret mission that only you can complete?” Hermione nodded quickly. “What exactly are you asking of me Miss Granger?” Speaking to such a younger Professor Dumbledore was more disorienting than she thought it would have been, but that also could be from the obscene time travel she’d been forced to experience. Hermione thought for a moment before answering, she had figured it would be difficult to convince him, that it would take months of explanations for him to agree to do anything for her. 

“At the start-of-term feast, you need to-,” she paused unsure of the wording of her request, “I need you slightly alter the minds of everyone in the hall, to make them think I’ve been here with them since my first year.” The end of the her sentence came out in a rush and Dumbledore smiled, looking like he wanted to laugh.

“Is that all?” Hermione nodded quickly and Dumbledore returned the gesture. “I’ll take care of what needs to be here, please return the morning of September first. I believe it will be easier for us all.” Hermione nodded before moving quickly to his fireplace, much to his chagrin, to floo to Diagon Alley.

* * *

 

“And with that, I believe Professor Dumbledore has something to say,” Dippet announced as a spattering of applause passed over the students. Tom joined in halfheartedly, giving Abraxas an eye roll. Dumbledore stepped up to his podium and smiled warmly at everyone. 

“This is a new year for us all, I hope to make it a great one. I wanted to announce that this year I would be teaming up with a few of your other Professors and we will be beginning a new dueling practice program.” This piqued Tom’s interest and he looked up slightly, his eyes caught sight of Dumbledore’s hand on his wand. “I also wanted to say-,” the words that followed were Latin, in root, but unlike any words Tom had ever come across. He looked quickly to Abraxas, whose eyes glazed over. That was not surprise, he then looked up at Headmaster Dippet, who also seemed to be in a trance, but just as fast as it had started, it was over, and Dumbledore’s wand was back in his robes, a warm smile back on his face. “I’ll have more information on that as month progresses. Now please, enjoy the feast!” The food appeared and Tom watched as the Slytherins began to dig in. No one else seemed to have noticed anything amiss about Dumbledore’s speech. The sound of the doors creaking open caught the attention of most of the school. A plain girl with mousy brown curls rebelling against the style she had it set in tried to sneak in unnoticed, that was not going to happen. Tom knew for a fact he had never seen this girl before, but no one else seemed confused or shocked to see her.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us, Miss Granger,” Dippet said. He had a mock scold on his face, and eventually gave her a wink. She grinned and moved to sit at the Gryffindor table, where a few girls smiled and began chatting with her as if she were an old friend. 

“Who the bloody hell is that?” Tom asked and indicated towards her. 

“That’s Hermione mate,” Abraxas said slowly. “She’s only been in nearly every class we’ve had since our first year.” Teddy Nott gave Tom a quizzical look. 

“She looks even better than I remember. Maybe I’ll take her to Hogsmeade, give her the Pureblood treatment,” he joked and one of the Rosier girls rolled her eyes at him. 

“Would you really stoop to a half-blood?” Abraxas asked curiously and Nott shrugged. Mulciber quickly jumped into the conversation with a brutal laugh.

“I would for those curves,” at this all three joined in the laughed. Tom did not. He picked at his food, and refused to let this go.

* * *

 

“Miss Granger,” Tom said cordially. He had been watching her for the last two weeks, trying to decide how best to approach her. “I was wondering if I may walk you to our first class.” Alisa Warbeck looked at Tom adoringly, and Celeste Diggory watched Hermione expectantly. Hermione took a few moments to think before she turned her head to look at him. 

“I can allow that, I suppose,” she told him nonchalantly. After another moment she stood and let Tom pick up her books. She walked a half step ahead of him out of the Great Hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, he could hear the insipid Gryffindor girls chatter incessantly.

“You seem different this year,” Tom told her. He watched out of the corner of his eye for some sort of reaction from her. 

“It was a difficult summer,” was all she told him. 

“I’d like to take you to Hogsmeade,” he said and she gave him a forced smile. 

“I would like that,” she said. He tried to get into her head, to see if she was lying. He hit a hard wall, and then fog covered everything. He refocused on her eyes, she knew. “Please stay out of my head, Tom.” She gave him a sweet smile and took her books from him then walked into the Charms classroom.

* * *

 

She was in the library studying, rather than at the Quidditch match. That was when he knew for sure she was odd. He knew there were things about her that were off, he knew Dumbledore modifying minds for her was strange, but up until this point he assumed she was as airheaded as any of her friends. 

“If you’re going to stare, can you move five feet to the left?” She asked without looking up at him. “You’re blocking the light.” Tom almost smiled at that. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. 

“May I help you with any homework?” He offered. “I’ve already finished and have plenty of time.” The look she gave him was almost insulted. She had opened her mouth to protest, but quickly caught herself and gave him another one of her sugar sweet smiles. It was revolting. 

“No thank you, but I do appreciate the offer,” her gaze returned to her book and her quill scratching along the parchment. 

“When can I pick you up?” He asked, and that had shocked her. She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “For Hogsmeade, I asked you last month.” He gave her a forced laugh, obviously fake.

“I’ll be ready by eleven, meet in the entrance hall?” 

“I’ll be there at ten,” he told her. They both knew he was lying.

* * *

 

“Madame Puddifoot’s?” Tom suggested and Hermione, who had curled herself around his arm shook her head. 

“You’ve known me five years,” she said. “You know I don’t waste my time there.”

“Of course,” Tom amended. “My mistake.” The game they were playing was like chess. He knew she wasn’t who she said she was. She knew that he knew. They were both trying to play each other and could see right through the other. 

“I don’t remember you even liking Hogsmeade very much anyway,” he added and she shrugged. 

“I don’t, but you invited me so I thought I might as well.” He had led her a little ways through the village, they were near the end of a row of squat houses. At the end of the street was a garden that had grown sparse in the cooler months. 

“Am I that interesting?” He asked and he heard her laugh, this one actually sounded real.

“If I had refused my roommates never would have let me hear the end of it.” Tom nodded and Hermione let go of his arm. They were at the garden and Tom stepped forward to look over the little fence. This was as good a chance as any, Hermione pulled out her wand. Tom’s back was to her, and all her training had told her attacking like this was sneaky and wrong. 

_ “It’s an assassination,”  _ is what Snape had said. That’s what she was doing, assassinating. For Snape, so his life could have actual meaning. For Harry and his parents. For Sirius Black. She raised the wand. 

“It’s bad etiquette,” Tom told her, still looking over the garden with his back to her. “It’d be wrong to take me out like this.” She gave a girlish giggle and he spun around quickly. She had turned the wand on herself. 

“I was just casting a warming charm, Tom.” She stowed her wand away and smiled up at him. “Are you ready to go back to school, or did you want to stop somewhere?”

“Let’s get you back to school,” he said and shrugged off his outer cloak. “I wouldn’t want you to freeze out here.”

* * *

 

That was how their game went. They were both the cat, they were both the mouse. They spent their time together playing teenagers in love, and their time apart was spent planning and scheming how to trip up the other. Hermione was always trying to get him alone, hoping she would finally be able to cast the spell. Tom was always trying to get her to let her guard down, to get into her head. Tom gave her gifts, and she gave him kisses. She was revolted because he was a killer. He was revolted because she was trying to outwit him.

Tom took her to Slughorn’s Christmas party, where the potions master doted over the two of them, his shining stars. Sure to be a powerful couple in the years to come. 

“Oh Tom will be Minister, and Hermione will make beautiful children!” He had cried happily, after a bit too much wine. Hermione had slipped away and gotten drinks for her and her boyfriend. She had planned to poison Tom, slip him something, but when it came down to it, she gave him the still-pure goblet and held the poisoned one tightly in her fist. There were too many people at the party anyway, it wouldn’t work here. Slughorn had bezoars everywhere anyway. 

“You’re frowning too much,” Tom had told her halfway through the evening. “You’ll get lines on your forehead. Stop making it obvious you were going to poison me.” They stood in tense silence for a long moment. He took the poisoned goblet away from her and poured it out. “And stop assuming I’m daft enough to fall for it.”

* * *

 

“You’re out late, my dear,” Tom said strolling up next to Hermione. She jumped in shock, not knowing he had been near her. Instinctively he took her books from her, and she let him. 

“You are too,” she pointed out and he shrugged. 

“I’m a prefect, I’m meant to be.” This was true, to an extent. He had gone to the Gryffindor common room looking for her, and one of the girls had said Hermione had left hours ago and wasn’t back yet. So he’d been looking for her, not actually doing any prefect duties. 

“I was only in the library,” she was becoming more and more agitated these days. She was constantly tense, and was starting to slip up during their games. He knew she would crack soon, but he wasn’t sure if he was quite done playing yet. 

“Come here,” he said and pulled her arm, surprising her, into an empty classroom. It was an old way, only used by the occasional students it seemed. 

“I have to get back before curfew,” she protested. Tom set her books down and turned on her. She was about to protest again when Tom stepped forward and pulled her lips to meet his. She began to step back, but stopped and reached up to hold onto the front of his robes. He pulled away and looked down at her. Her hair, as usual, was fighting the tight style she had it pulled back in. He reached up and pulled out pins and clips and let it free. 

“I’ll get you back,” he told her. His voice was soft, and Hermione wondered just how much he knew about her. Just how much that promise sounded like exactly what she wanted to hear. This time, it was her that brought her mouth to his. 

This wasn’t something either of them had often done, with each other or anyone else for that matter. Tom had gone on a date or two with a Greengrass or Rosier. Hermione had kissed Krum, but neither had had this. 

Hermione knew a large part of the enticement was because she knew how horrible it was to be involved whatsoever with a murderous lunatic. She also knew that wasn’t who he was yet. She also felt some sort of irony in the fact he didn’t actually know her blood status, and that one day he may find out the truth, and that brought her joy. 

Tom grabbed her waist and lifted her enough to sit her on a desk. She spread her legs wide enough for him to push up against her. His body straining against his trousers, and hers arching for his. He had a fist clutching her hair, and she had his neck in a headlock. 

He was the one to pull away, he turned away from her and collected himself, two minutes went by. Hermione stayed sat on the desk, catching her breath and scolding herself. Tom turned back to her and offered his hand. 

“Almost curfew.”

* * *

 

Twelve students stayed for the holidays. Two Hufflepuffs, six Ravenclaws, three Slytherins, and a single Gryffindor. Tom became bolder, trying to break her down by using her own body against her. In truth, it only helped Hermione collect herself enough to not go crazy. 

He would take her for a walk around the lake, and she would pull him down into a pile of fresh snow. They would emerge minutes later, both with red cheeks and a smug expression. Hermione knew he didn’t actually care for her, but what was the harm if she was going to kill him anyway? She needed to only find a way. No poison, the killing curse was still on the table if she could just bring herself to do it. Curses, hexes, jinxes, she was still looking for a way. She even went as far as sneaking into the restricted section in the middle of the night to research when she knew he wouldn’t pop up behind her.

“I got you something,” he told her and stopped under a tree. He let her sit and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet bag and handed it to her. She opened it, and to both her shock and secret amusement, she found a bezoar. “In case you do something you regret.” Hermione only nodded, and tucked it inside her robe.

* * *

 

“Professor,” Hermione said carefully and Dumbledore looked up at her with a pleasant smile. “There will come a day when you need to tell Severus Snape he was correct. I trust you’ll know when that is.”

* * *

 

He had her against the stone wall. Three in the morning he had found her tip-toeing through the halls, back to Gryffindor Tower from wherever she had snuck off to. One of his arms was up, blocking her path, the other hand was sitting on her waist. 

“Where have you been, Granger?” He asked, a smirk pulling at his lips. He had finally caught her in a act she couldn’t lie away. He tried again to get into her mind, but her walls were stronger than he had ever felt them. “Scared? You’re trying awfully hard to keep me out of your head.” Her eyes flicking over his with the nervousness of any prey Tom had ever seen. “It’s much too late for any respectable young lady to be wandering the castle unaccompanied.” 

“I was in Ravenclaw Tower,” she lied. “With Lorcan McLaird.”

“ _ Liar! _ ” He yelled and Hermione tried to push herself even further into the hard stone of the wall, his grip moved to her hip, pushing her back and gripping tightly. She knew it would leave a bruise. “Try to keep that little lie and I will kill McLaird, and his blood will be on your hands.” Her eyes widened, knowing he wasn’t lying. He knew that was his chance, and once again he tried to enter her mind. This time he found a crack and he wriggled through it. 

“Hey ‘mione,” said an ugly redhead turning to look at her. They were sitting in the Charms classroom, preparing to take an exam. Probably one of the last for the year, judging by the spring weather outside. “Do you have an extra quill, I forgot mine?” A shocked and almost pained look crossed Hermione’s face, but dissipated when she realized he was teasing her and laughed. Hermione gave him an adoring look and proceeded to date her exam. April 12th, 1995. The look Hermione had given the redhead nearly overshadowed the date, but despite wanting to vomit, he filed that information away. Tom had had suspicions she was a time traveller, but never had any real proof. The scene changed, she was walking with a black haired boy who was wearing lopsided glasses through on of the third floor corridors. They were alone, and eventually stopped to look out of a window together. Tom could see a crowd of students walking to Hogsmeade, a ginger idiot of a man could be seen with a blonde leech clinging tightly to his arm.

“When the war ends we should go on a vacation,” he told her. “Somewhere warm, Caribbean maybe?” He suggested and turned to look at her. 

“Wherever  _ Lav-Lav _ can't find us,” Hermione said and reflected his smile before taking out her wand and repairing his glasses.

The scene shifted again, and she was in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore was there, an older woman with a pinched face, and a man with greasy black hair and matching black billowing robes. 

“She’s only a child, Albus. You cannot expect this of her, it’s too much.” The man said, his voice was hoarse and raspy. 

“I agree with Severus,” said the older woman. “You cannot ask this of Miss Granger. She doesn’t have the heart of a killer.”

“This isn’t any kill either,” said Severus. “This is before he becomes who she knows as the Dark Lord. This is the assassination of one of the most charismatic young men to wander these halls! This will tear her soul in two and she may never be able to repair it!”

“Need I remind you, Minerva, Severus,” Dumbledore began. “Miss Granger is a singularly gifted witch. She was approved to use a time turner in her third year and has some of the most astounding O.W.L.’s achieved this century. I think she is more than capable of evading Tom Riddle’s charms.” Dumbledore was smiling to himself, the younger man, Severus, walked to kneel in front of where Hermione sat. 

“Miss Granger,” he said, his voice low, Tom could see the vulnerability he was baring and just how shocked Hermione was by it. “You need to say no to this, he cannot force you. You need to understand what he is asking of you.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, the first time she’d spoken in the memory. “I’m to go back in time,” she said slowly. “And kill Tom Riddle.” 

The next scene had been one of Tom’s fonder moments with the young woman. She was flat on a desk and Tom was leering over her, his lips on her neck, and a hand up her shirt. She had whispered his name in a moan, and he had stopped and looked at her. For the first time in a long time, they looked at each other with no restrictions between them. 

“Come with me to Yorkshire this summer,” it wasn’t a request, it was a demand. The breath left Hermione’s lungs. They stared at eachother for a long moment, before she nodded. The scene began to change, showing Hermione once again in front of Dumbledore, but then Tom felt the connection waver, and he was shoved out of her mind. 

He was physically pushed back a few feet, Hermione was down to her knees shaking and Tom was trying to catch his breath. 

“You have no right,” she told him. He assumed she had meant to be righteous and frightening, but she was shaking too hard to sound anything other than pathetic. 

“I have every right,” Tom informed her, straightening his back. “I knew you were here to ruin my life.” He told her and stalked forward again, with his fingers under her chin he stood her up and resumed his previous stance. “You were sent back in time to kill me, Miss Granger. I do believe you owe me an explanation.” His hand moved down from her waist to the hem of her skirt, slowly pulling it up. 

“I was sent here to kill you,” Hermione finally said, her voice thick with fear. “By Albus Dumbledore.” Tom’s hand was now flat on her thigh and Hermione was nearly shaking. 

“And when did he send you from?” He asked as his hand moved around her thigh and up the curve of her bum, over her knickers.

“May of 1996, three months before my sixth year.” She had tilted her head up towards him, and had moved to press her hips towards him. On a normal evening, this was as far as they would go. A hand up a skirt, and then one would end the evening and they would return to acting proper. With either of their deaths imminent tonight, neither was going to stop. 

“Why you?” He asked as his left hand moved to join his right on her bum. She licked her lips, which caught his gaze for a moment before they returned to her eyes. 

“Because I had been a part of a battle, with you,” she told him slowly. “I killed Teddy Nott.” That caught his interest. “Dumbledore had me convinced I was going to Azkaban, and that the best place for me was somewhere no one would know where to find me.”

“The past,” Tom said and she nodded. His fingers found the waistband of her knickers and began to pull them away. “How did you kill Teddy?” Teddy Nott was a good follower. He had money, and he was smart enough to be discreet about his beliefs. Hermione didn’t respond immediately, but Tom was insistent on making her talk. He pulled on her knickers, tearing the delicate fabric and pocketed them. Then with nothing in between his hands and her body, he pressed one of his palms against her, while the other came to cover her mouth as she cried out and her knees quivered. “Tell me about Teddy,” he said and pulled both his hands away. 

“We were all in the Department of Mysteries,” she said slowly. “You sent… Abraxas’s son and Teddy, and a few others to get a prophecy. Teddy grabbed my friend, I stunned him and he was trapped when the department went down.” 

“Good girl,” he crooned before slowly bringing his hand back under her skirt. Her hips tilted back into him, looking for the pressure and friction his hand promised. “Are you going to kill me?” He asked slowly and she let out a sigh. Her eyes were closed and her head had fallen back against the wall. 

“I can’t kill you,” she told him. “I thought it would be easy, but I’m not a killer.”

“Yes you are,” he corrected. “You’ve killed before, you could again.” He let two of his fingers begin to trace the slick folds of her pussy. He leaned down and kissed her, her hips still searching for friction. He bit her lip, and she cried out. “Why does Dumbledore want me dead?” He asked and that brought Hermione back. She pushed Tom off of her her and moved away from the wall. She started to walk away from him, before she got too far he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a classroom and pushed her onto a table. “You will tell me, witch.” He said before pushing her skirt up, baring her uncovered and unshaven pussy. The cool, damp air of the classroom made her suck in a breath. 

“Tom, I really can’t, I’ve already said too much-,” she was cut off when he stuck his face in between her legs and his tongue made a long line up her slit. He was pleasantly surprised by her reaction. She gasped and her hips moved towards him on her own accord. 

“Tell me, witch,” he commanded and with her breath coming fast now, she did. 

“You become a terribly dark wizard,” she admitted. “You cause the deaths of so many innocents. Dumbledore thought it was worth sacrificing one more, if I could save the others.” This, Tom rewarded by delving back between her thighs. She squirmed and he held her hips down, alternating between sucking and licking her clit. By the time he sat back up, she was almost limp, her face red and blotchy. Tom stood and leaned over her then began unbuttoning her shirt. 

“Do my horcruxes work?” He asked and she cocked her head to the side.

“Your what?” She asked, this he knew was true confusion. He sat her up and pulled her shirt off, then unclasped her bra. Her nipples were hard in the cold room, Tom reached forward and ran a thumb other either one. 

The sensory overload on Hermione was causing goosebumps anywhere he touched her. His hands on her breasts, his tongue between her thighs. He leaned over her to kiss her again, and her hand found the waistband of his trousers. She quickly undid his belt and pulled the trousers down. Tom stepped out of them as he unbuttoned his shirt and shed that too. Hermione reached for him and pulled him on top of her. 

His lips travelled from hers to her neck, and down her chest to take a nipple in his mouth as his hand played with the other. Her own hand reached to hold his cock in her hand. He let out a hiss of pleasure and moved back up to her lips as she moved her hand and down the shaft. She’d never done anything like this before, and while she knew she must be insane by this point, she didn’t feel self conscious of learning this with Tom.

He reached a hand down to meet hers and together they found her wet pussy, ready for him. Hermione spread her legs even further, and Tom, staring in her eyes, pressed himself into her. She let out a gasp of pain, a hand reaching up to grab the hair on the back of Tom’s neck. He pulled himself completely out of her, before pushing in again, harder. She let out another gasp, this one with a moan mingled in. Her eyes closed and her lips opened slightly. 

“Open your eyes, witch. Look at me while I take your virginity.” She did as she was told, but some part of her didn’t want to just take it. She pulled away from him, and with fire in his eyes he moved back towards her. She pushed him flat on his back and straddled him. She slid onto his cock, and he watched in amazement as she took control away from him. 

Their power struggle continued, each pushing the other into a new position to prove their were in charge, until finally Hermione was bent over a desk and Tom was slapping her arse red. 

“This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so damn naughty,” he told her through gritted teeth. Her face was flat on the table, sweating and breathing hard. 

“Are you going to cum on me?” She asked, he wasn’t expecting that. 

“No, witch.” He told her. It struck her then, he hadn’t called her Hermione since this began. Only ‘witch’. “I’m going to cum in you, and send you back to your time. Pregnant with mine.” Hermione knew he wasn’t lying to her, and she knew she should object, but in that moment, that was the sexiest thing he could have said to her. He grabbed her waist hard enough to leave bruises and pulled her arse back onto his cock. They were both groaning by now, neither concerned with the noise they were making. Then, buried deep in her, Tom felt himself come undone and the world paused around him. 

Hermione could feel him pulsing inside her, in rhythm with her own body recovering from the absolute assault on her senses. After a long moment, he composed himself enough to pull himself out of her and moved to lay beside her. They were breathing hard, and he pulled her to his chest.

They laid there for nearly an hour, both slipping in and out of sleep. When Tom’s watch showed it was nearing five in the morning her stood and began collecting his clothes. Hermione began to stand and follow his lead. She pulled on the discarded clothing, minus the knickers he’d pocketed. 

“Hermione,” he said, his voice hoarse. She turned to look at him, almost surprised he had gone back to her actual name. She didn’t have time to register what was happening before the blade ripped open her chest. 

“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance, Mudblood.”


End file.
